


What Is Dead May Never Die

by sasha_b



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Gen, M/M, Revo Redux Challenge, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the blackout, safety isn't guaranteed, even for Bass Monroe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is Dead May Never Die

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Revo Redux challenge on Live Journal. This diverges from canon from the end of season one; I imagine Bass wandering by himself for several months, ending up in New Vegas (although I don't really touch on that) and then Willoughby with Charlie and Miles. Everything else is fair game. The timeline here also passes through a few years. And yeah, there's major character death, and there's vampires.
> 
> Prompt courtesy of mustbethursday.
> 
> Title courtesy of Game of Thrones and House Greyjoy. Feedback is love.

The scrape of the tree bark against his hand was startlingly loud.

The cemetery was empty. Bass wasn’t sure what he’d find there, but he was oddly, ridiculously glad there was no one there to argue with or have to defend himself against. He was tired, and he was numb, and there was nothing he’d rather do but say his goodbyes and get the fuck out of Dodge.

Or out of Colorado, or out of this all too familiar cemetery, which was where he was, hand raised over his head, the branch under his fingers rough and old and the tree it grew from leafless and bent. The wind was silent and the moon was full and low in the sky; he’d walked through the better part of the week to get here, sleeping during the day and traveling mostly at night in order to avoid any enclaves he couldn’t protect himself from. Once the nukes had gone off, things had turned even wonkier than they had been, and he wasn’t sure what kind of violence he might be expecting now.

He found he didn’t really care what happened to him, but he had a son out there – the boy wasn’t Shelley’s baby, and he wasn’t a son Bass could raise and make his heir, really, but all the same. He didn’t want to leave his son without the boy knowing he did have a father that believed in finding him and making up for his mistakes.

All his mistakes. Emma’s red hair – the color a bomb in his periphery.

Miles, Charlotte, all of them. Rachel and Ben and Danny. All his mistakes, so fresh and awful in his brain. The militia, the hunt for power, all those things that had been so important for so very long. And he still felt empty despite everything he’d had. He turned and tripped over the toe of his boot and almost went to his knees by mistake – the lightning lit up the sky and he missed the root he’d almost fallen over.

The lightning he’d seen when the bombs had gone off had appeared and disappeared a few times since then; he’d been afraid of it the first few times, but after the tenth…he’d kept walking. Walking and walking and he knew he had a lot more walking to do, despite his desire to collapse and die on the side of the road. If he slept at night, the enclaves would most likely kill him anyway, which had been a thought for a while.

The world was bleached and grey and he let go of the tree, stepping forward and up to the graves he knew way too well, the flowers at their bases dead and crumpled. Emma wasn’t there to tend to them anymore – he shuddered and shoved that away. Too much pain, and that Bass was long dead. He’d died with Shelley and his baby, really. Even with Miles around.

Miles.

He squatted on his haunches and touched the top of his father’s headstone, brushing the detritus and dead leaves off of it. He thought he should say something, or pray, or smile or maybe cry or _something_ , but nothing came. Nothing, except

_well, you’ve got me._

“Jesus,” he said, the word soft and without inflection. Too much had happened.

He stood and didn’t cast a gaze at the two graves at the end. He wouldn’t do that. The girls were gone and he couldn’t go there right now. Probably never again.

Rustling in the dry scrubs behind him had him turning and putting a hand on the thick stubby sword he wore at his waist. Bullets wouldn’t do shit for him at this time of night. The moon cleared some clouds and cast icy light on the cemetery and surrounding area – a deer picked its way gingerly out of the copse and Bass relaxed, not what he expected but still.

The little thing was skinny and skittish and he was really surprised it was still alive. If it hung around here it wouldn’t be for long.

He turned and moved away from the graves, shouldering the bag he’d dropped, and the deer took off like a shot, its tiny hooves barely making any kind of indent in the soft mast that covered the ground of the empty cemetery. He didn’t watch it, and he didn’t turn for a final look at what remained of his family. He probably should, as he wasn’t sure he’d make it back any time soon. Or ever.

He wished he cared.

Moving along the slight hilly areas where he and Miles had once sat and where Miles had reminded Bass he wasn’t alone (yeah), Bass left the graveyard and set his boots onto cracked cement, checking the area first, eyes roving, ears straining, smelling, using all senses to _make sure_ he could get going.

After waiting a good ten minutes at the edge of the cracked and dirty highway, he started off, headed back the way he’d come, toward the lightning and the Tower and past it – toward Texas and maybe Miles and some sort of absolution.

As long as the blood suckers that populated the large decrepit towns along the way didn’t kill him first.

**Willoughby, Texas**

“It’s too quiet.”

“Should be grateful, Charlotte.”

The look Miles’ niece gave him would have blistered the eyeballs of any other man. Bass merely cocked an eyebrow, and went back to staring at the woods past the wall they’d erected around the town when the enclaves had begun encroaching on their territory. Nighttime was usually dangerous and busy; Charlotte was right.

Where were the vamps?

Had the nukes Flynn dropped finally destroyed them? Had they been decimated like the humans that had lived in the large groups the bombs had landed on?

  
They wouldn’t be so lucky; Bass had seen plenty of the suckers on his trip here. But the ones he’d seen…they were _wrong_. Gross, falling apart, meaner than normal, stupider too. More like zombies than actual vampires. Nukes hadn’t fallen in Texas, but he knew the monsters traveled, looking for better sources of food, cleaner food, especially since the bombs.

Especially since Texas was so big and had so many survivors, after all.

Movement to their left. Bass remained calm; Charlotte handed him the binoculars and stood, drawing her sword, her leather jacket (like his) creaking with her movement. The moon was small and covered with clouds and they couldn’t see much beyond the wall where they sat.

“Coulda taken both of you out five minutes ago.”

Miles hunkered between where Bass and Charlie sat. Bass lowered his binoculars and looked at Miles, face unmoving, his left eyebrow raising a hair the only sign he’d acknowledged the other man’s comment.

“I smelled you ten minutes ago.”

A small snort.

“What’s the activity like?”

Miles was in mostly black like he and Charlotte were, but Bass did notice (the slight pang that came with it annoying and unwanted) that the other man wore his old militia boots still. They matched the ones Bass wore – both of them needing new footwear but not willing to give the old ones up just yet. Bass didn’t know if Miles kept his for the sake of memory or convenience. Probably convenience; after all, it was Miles, and the other man wasn’t known for his sentimentality. Fuck.

“Nothing,” Charlie’s voice was a soft murmur, her (also) booted feet crossed at the ankle as she sat back down. “Which is really weird, Miles. Where are they?”

“Feeding some place else?”

Bass shook his head. “Not likely. They’ve been pretty active here lately. Why would they go anywhere else?”

“Ya got me. Because they’re not smart?” Miles shook his head and put out his hand. Bass handed him the binoculars as the other man scanned the area. “Or maybe because they’re starting to get worse.”

A twist of his mouth. Bass canted his eyes to Miles’ face as he handed him back the binoculars; the other man hadn’t agreed with Bass the last time they’d argued about the “rotting” vamps that had been terrorizing Willoughby. They hadn’t even been able to go outside the gates to see Rachel. Or Gene, or Aaron.

Bass shrugged; he missed Rachel a bit but the other two could rot for all he cared. He’d done what he came here to do and that was enough. He had Miles, and he had Charlotte in a way, and he had Connor. Connor, who hadn’t forgiven him, or learned to really like him, but when they’d gone to Mexico and had rescued him from the band that had been keeping him prisoner there (the boy almost drained, his blood apparently sweet enough to keep him around like dessert), Connor had been grateful enough even though he had swung at Bass the first time Bass had identified himself.

Dirty moonlight shone on the top of Charlotte’s head; her light hair was pulled tightly into a bun and Bass found himself thinking of Emma’s red mass again and he shook his head, blinking, even as Miles caught his eyes and mouthed _what?_

Bass blinked again, _nothing_ formed on his lips and seen by Miles without Charlotte noticing. Miles stared for a minute and then turned his gaze back to the cracked road in front of Willoughby’s gates.

The shack he’d burned a few days ago had stopped smoldering finally, the family of dead travelers and two vamps crisped in the fire Miles had started to get rid of bodies that might draw more blood suckers. That was the last thing they needed. People should know better than to try and travel in small packs now that the bombs had changed everything.

Ask Rachel. Or Gene, or Aaron.

“I think we need to go out there.”

Both Bass and Miles turned to look at Charlie. “You dumb, kid? We don’t have enough people to take on a whole enclave.” Miles shook his head, and squatted on his heels, watching her. “You want to end up like – ”

“I want to be done with this.”

Bass knew she didn’t just mean living here or watching the walls at night. He agreed with her most of the time. Most of the time – although there were a few times when he and Connor were talking, or just sitting together, or that one time when he and Miles were piss-poor drunk on some gross hooch someone in the town had made and Miles had looked at him like he’d done what seemed a million years ago.

Bass missed that look. He missed times when they were _free_ to do what they wanted, and he was angry, really, that he’d spent the time he had with the militia, trying to find what was so unimportant, now. He had what was important with him _now_ and although he didn’t regret some of the things they’d done – he cocked his head and stared up at the stars, bright and wavering, far away and beautiful and probably the only place left that was peaceful.

But they could do something to change that.

“She’s right, Miles.” As he said it, it was suddenly the truth. He narrowed his eyebrows and thought again – but no, Charlotte was right. Damn it.

Miles blinked once, twice and then twisted his mouth. He leaned closer to Bass and stared at him, the gun at his back rising over his shoulder, the muzzle catching the muted moonlight and winking at Bass. He saw Miles in armor, a knight that would die defending whatever kingdom protected his family, and he understand why Miles would be reluctant to do anything that would endanger what was left of anyone he loved.

But Charlotte was right. They’d been hiding here for too long, and it had been too long since the nukes fell and no one had done anything about it and he was tired of trying to disappear in order to stay alive. He’d felt dead since Rachel’s son had died (because of him), had felt dead really since Miles had left him, taking Nora with him, the first time. Coming here and finding Charlotte and saving each other and then finding Miles and the town and then Connor had changed things.

Shit.

He wanted what he used to have, before the lights went out, before the vamps had come, before the only things that had mattered to him had died in a wash of bright red blood and screams in a tiny dirty tent in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.

“What?”

“Shit or get off the pot. Or don’t you want to put an end to this?”

Miles sucked in his breath, his cheeks collapsing with the rush of air. “You want to die like Rachel?” Her name came out of Miles’ mouth sharp and brittle, bright and painful and Bass pursed his lips, tasting iron at the mention. “Like Gene? Or Aaron?”

“I want to get rid of those things that have plagued us for too long. I want to do something instead of sitting here. I want to die, yeah,” his bright blue eyes caught Miles’ darker ones, the intensity he suddenly felt taking over and making him stand. Miles stood with him, Charlie more slowly behind them, “if it means I can die free of this blood. I’m tired of blood, Miles.”

“I’m tired of blood too, Bass. But you never did stop and think before you did anything, and the times you did the execution was so fucking stupid I still wonder sometimes how you survived this long,” Miles bit off. He was slightly taller than Bass, but Bass had never been intimidated by him, ever. Not once. He loved him too much for that.

Sometimes he forgot about that, when he was so angry Miles had left him he couldn’t even place why he’d been looking for the other man in the first place.

And then there were moments like this that he remembered nothing else.

He took Miles’ arm and dragged him to the end of the wall they were encamped on, dragging him away from Charlotte. After all this time Bass loved her too, and despite the fact she wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the means (sometimes smarter than her dumb uncle) she was still young and he didn’t want to be responsible for dirtying her like he had her mom and brother.

He swallowed. “We’ve been sitting here, waiting to die for a long time, Miles. She’s right. What are we waiting for? What kind of existence is this? Waiting here for whatever tiny squeaks of info out of Washington we can beg or steal? Living at night, sleeping during the day, never seeing the sun, living in darkness, like them? If only to make it one more day?”

“Since when do you have any care for anything but yourself? Or your damn kid we lost too many people for to save?”

Bass bent over as though he’d been punched when Miles shut his mouth, but he deserved that, deserved the angry words, and then he straightened and nodded. “I’m not that guy I used to be.”

“I don’t know, Bass. You seem pretty much the same to me. And I should know.” Miles crossed his arms and stared at Bass with his dark eyes, eyes that could scorch Bass and burn him up, as they always had been able to. He snorted and angrily ran a hand through his dirty, too long curls.

“Fuck, Miles! How much do I have to do for you to forgive me? What else can I sacrifice? I’m trying to make amends, here. Give me the chance to do what I need to. Or I’ll just do it without your help.”

When he said it, he knew it was the truth. It was past time to shit or get off the pot. It had taken Charlotte – Charlie – saying something to make him see it.

He drew his pistol and checked the load, and then shoved it back into the holster he wore on his leg like Charlie did. “With or without you, brother. Let me help her fix this.” He didn’t say what he wanted to fix, but he had the feeling Miles knew what he meant. And if Miles didn’t go with them…well, Bass would make sure Connor was taken care of, because he had a feeling that despite his bravado this would be really hard without the other man’s help. But he’d do it all the same.

“Jesus, Bass,” Miles’ face was pinched and frozen and then he sighed and lowered his arms. “You’ve got shit timing, you know that?”

Bass didn’t dare smile, but he relaxed enough to unclench his fists. “Just give her a chance. Give us a chance to plan something out. We can take out a few of them, at least. Get out to see Rachel and the others at least one last time. Right?”

Miles froze at that, but he didn’t say anything. Bass finally took a breath and looked again at the sky, and then at Charlie. “Let’s go,” he waved at her, and she met up with them in the middle of the wall, her eyes roving everywhere, just like she’d been taught. She was a good soldier, and Bass found that amusing and awful. Rachel had taught her too well.

“Miles?” she said, her voice sounding like the girl she’d been. Miles looked at her and Bass saw something pass between them, something he might have with Connor if they had a chance to live a little longer. It had been several years, but hurt like that healed oh so slowly, and Bass would give anything to see Connor look at him with non-confused eyes. No matter the years that had passed.

“Okay,” Miles answered. Charlie nodded and turned and made her way down the steps that lead to the ground – the moon was setting and it was time to try and sleep and let someone else take watch. Not much happened during the day, but one never knew.

Bass paused as uncle and niece gained the ground; he looked at the woods around them and listened to the wind blowing through the trees, soft and noncommittal and he rested his hands on his hips, and felt something might be coming, something good for the first time since Rachel and Gene and Aaron had been taken apart by vamps that they’d been trying to kill for enough years that they’d blurred into one long blank time period.

It had been a long while since the militia and the things that had happened at the Tower and he thought with a brief flash things might be _soft_ again, maybe. If only for a little while.

*

Their trap was simple and perfect. Bass had argued with Miles and with Charlie about who would sit out there and be bait – the others hidden behind a burned out bunker that none of them knew the purpose of – but in the end he’d won, as he was the one with the least to lose. An awful thought, as he had Connor, of course. He loved his son. He thought his son loved him, too, now, but… (He had cleared his throat and spat when he realized this) Bass could leave Connor with Miles and Charlie and they could be a complete family. If they’d lost Miles, or worse off Charlie, he didn’t know how that would work out. He knew it would be bad. Worse than most things he could imagine. And allowing Connor to do anything without Bass there to back him up, well, that wasn’t happening. Ever. They could do without him, easiest of all of them. He was as sure of that as he had been anything in his whole life.

He shook his head and stared out at the setting sun, the fact that he’d been okay in the end to voluntarily possibly be taken from Connor making his chest and head ache. Throbbing pain, a sledgehammer, booted feet stomping mush out of his brain. Militia boots, high laces, just like the ones he wore. So many mistakes, so many things he’d done that he wished he’d done differently or hadn’t done at all, things he missed like burning, bad choices, and fuck’s sake. He swallowed. He was Sebastian Monroe, the man who’d built an empire out of the ashes and mud that they’d been left and he would never forget it. He could do anything he set his mind to, and if he had to sacrifice himself for the family he had left, he’d damn well do it. They would be safe. That was what mattered now, and it was what had mattered when Miles had left him alone. Even if he hadn’t seen it then.

Darkness.

He waited, seemingly alone, the blood he’d smeared on his chest and near his heart – that should draw them quickly – sticky and drying and where in the fuck were the vampires? They should have been here long before now. The sliver of the moon smiled at him and he cursed and stood, pacing out in the open, at least a half mile from the town so the vamps wouldn’t be too worried about getting hurt trying to nab him.

The bunker the others were hidden behind was near enough that he would be able to hear anything happening, but not close enough for him to see much. He frowned and paced, making a lot of noise, whistling, swinging his arms, his weapon hidden behind the beaten leather jacket he wore.

He wanted this to be done, so he could stop fucking _thinking_ and start living the way he’d wanted to since the power had gone out. Since before, really, when he’d had Miles and things had been right even when it was just the two of them.

“Come on, blood suckers! Dinn-”

The scream cut through the thin air, a knife through butter, teeth through skin.

Bass ran toward the bunker, the screams and sounds of gunfire, the _thwack_ of the sword Miles carried making his heart pump faster, his legs flashing, feet flying over leaves and tree roots and something grabbed him, almost jerking his arm out of the socket. He fell, kicking and biting even though the arms that held him were strong and iron bands around his chest.

The slice of moon – it was there, in his eyes, his old cargo pants and jacket now a trap he couldn’t squeeze out of, tangled up in his clothing as he was, trying to get away with every bit of strength he had – shouts and thumps and _brakka brakka brakka_ the sound of automatic weapons and he thought he heard someone scream _Bass_ but he wasn’t sure. A face loomed over his – white and melty and the fangs in its mouth – he screamed in rage, and bucked and fought and well, _here_ the damn vampires were.

The thing smiled, and more of them ran around him as he thrashed against the creature’s hold, feet thudding on the soft ground, the shrieks from his family growing fainter even as he could hear noises that he really didn’t want to identify.

The thing that held him smiled and lowered its mouth to his neck and he headbutted it, forcing it to jerk back from him in surprise, but the rebound was rough and Bass smashed the back of his skull against a rock behind him and things went wobbily and he tried to move his arms and legs and reach for his gun but it was all he could do to breathe and try and not give in so damn easily.

The fucking moon and its tiny light blinded him and then nothing except Connor, shouting his name, and then _Dad_ and then nothing else –

*

The cemetery was quiet and empty as it always was. Rachel and Gene’s headstones were lopsided; Aaron’s had fallen and the whole place was dark and covered with nature’s detritus and the smell of rotted wood. They never had gotten to see them again, after all. A laugh escaped him at the thought; it was perfunctory, though, and he really didn’t feel any of the emotion that had caused it to surface.

Bass stood at the foot of Rachel’s, staring down at it. He crossed his arms over his jacket and then rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling nothing, reading her name over and over, remembering in flashes her face and her ridiculous love for her children and he moved away from the falling down portion of the place, hearing Charlie’s screams echo in his head when they’d found Rachel’s body, torn up. He’d put his hand on her shoulder and had let her cry until Miles had come, Charlie turning to him as she always had.

She hadn’t cried when Aaron and Gene had been taken. Emotion, always emotion. Such a wasteful thing.

He raised his hand and rested it on the bough of a bare tree that grew behind where he was standing, the stars he could see through its skeleton branches bright and electric – he hadn’t forgotten what that had looked like – and the natural light around him, despite the no moon, showed him things he had never noticed before. The different colors in the shadows of the world were amazing.

There wasn’t just black and white anymore.

And as each day passed on his own, the things that had broken him and that had been so meaningful were gradually fading. A few times he’d woken up sobbing, but had stopped immediately as that was a reaction to emotion he was gradually forgetting. Thoughts raced through his head sometimes, vagueries that should have mattered, touches, smiles, laughter and blood and tears and

_Things are different, Bass. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?_

_It means everything, Miles. You should know that by now._

There’d been a pause, then a light touch to his face, followed by:

_I do._

Something welled bright in his chest and he let go of the tree, crouching over his knees, hands on his thighs, and he coughed hard, and heaved up the blood he’d drunk earlier.

Thick tears ran from his eyes – he didn’t think he could cry anymore, but apparently he could right in this moment – but the wind picked up and blew his hair and the _sensation_ , fuck – he wiped his face and stood up and his eyes dried almost immediately and he stepped out from under the tree and made his way on light feet to the edge of the old cemetery.

There was no one waiting for him. He had nothing he had to do, nowhere particular to be, no family to protect or love.

He hawked and spit again and did not turn to look at the three fresh holes someone had filled with the torn bodies they must have found behind the burned out bunker near the gates of Willoughby.

They were marked with crosses but no names. Bass didn’t need to ask about that, though. He didn’t need to ask why he’d changed and they had died. The answer held no meaning.

As each night passed he found he cared less. But those moments when he woke weeping he questioned his survival and the extreme fucking stupid irony behind it.

Now, since he’d fed (although his stomach was growling since he’d vomited), he was able to push that away more easily, and he exited the cemetery, stopping at the cracked cement highway, looking north and west and thinking about what else was open for him now.

He looked up at the sky and its infinite black. He spread his arms wide and let the black of the heavens fill up the holes that were only slightly achy and it filled his brain and heart and that place only three people had occupied in the past few years and they were gone and it was just him and he smiled, the fangs in his mouth sharp and shiny and new and he wiped blood off his lips and made the decision to leave and when he did, he was gone, too.

He’d taken clothing from the home they’d occupied, not wanting to take anything with him that had been a part of his old life (leftover emotion; stupid), although the boots he’d found had been too big and probably not something he should have chosen. It didn’t matter in the end, though.

Even if the tag inside the boots that said _Matheson_ gave his head a tight, viselike squeeze when he happened to notice it.

That, too, would be gone soon enough.


End file.
